The Ruby Airship

by Sharon Gosling

  Rémy shook her head. “If Claudette doesn’t want to make herself known, who are we to force her? It’s her life, not ours.”

  Yannick threw up his hands. “You’re all fools! Give the money away if you want, Claudette. Look around you — there are plenty in need of it. But for goodness’ sake, use it! What good is it doing where it is?”

  Claudette laughed hollowly. “I would be free to do that, would I?” she asked scornfully. “What if I rode through Paris, throwing handfuls of gold from my saddlebags? Would your Comte be as happy then? You are a rare fool, Yannick, if you believe he would stand by and let me do as I wish with that fortune.”

  The magician shook his head. “You should think better of people.”

  Claudette shook her head. “Every time I do that, magician, I meet a snake in the grass like you. All I want to do is live my life as I always have done. But all you see is the money. I have a mute daughter, born out of wedlock. What family of prestige will welcome her? And do you honestly think I would risk finding out, even if I hadn’t read the leaves and seen the truth?”

  The magician barked a harsh laugh. “Well, it’s too late, anyway. I’ve found you, and so the Comte has found you, too. Thank me or not, Claudette, you will inherit your money. Then we’ll see who the fool is.”

  Before anyone could stop him, Yannick leaped back into his saddle. His horse smarted, dancing forward on tired legs, but Yannick pulled it around and forced it into a flat gallop, heading back up the road the way they had come. Rémy went to follow, but Claudette’s hand on her arm held her back.

  “Let him go, Little Bird,” she said, staring after the fleeing horse. “The damage is done.”

  “I think he . . . I think he hypnotized me,” Rémy murmured, the buzz still filling her head. “I remember . . . telling him he shouldn’t come, and then . . .”

  Claudette grasped her shoulders. “He’s a skilled hypnotist and you wanted to find me anyway, Rémy. It’s no surprise he was able to use that.”

  “But I — I brought him here. I betrayed you, and now . . .”

  “It is not your fault,” her friend reassured her. “But we have to leave. Now. The Comte’s forces must be close.”

  “We are ready to move out, Claudette,” said Augustus at her shoulder, “just as soon as you give the word.”

  “It’s too late,” Claudette told him, bending down to haul Amélie into her arms and holding her daughter close. “I must take her and go on foot. The forest may slow them down.”

  “You can’t,” said Rémy. “There are bandits in the forest, and it is almost dark!”

  “Better that than what’s waiting for me on that road,” Claudette muttered. She held one hand to Rémy’s face. “I am sorry to have spoken to you harshly, Little Bird. It is good to see you, but —”

  A shout came from somewhere among the gathered performers. Rémy and Claudette looked up to see flickering tongues of flame pouring along the road from the valley pass in bobbing lines. From this distance it looked like a snake formed of fire, slipping quickly toward them.

  “Horses, on the road,” said Rémy. “They’re coming fast.”

  Augustus yelled for the circus to move out as Claudette ran for her caravan. Rémy followed, dodging the whinnying circus horses as they began to pull the caravans onto the road. Claudette ran up the steps of her home, setting Amélie down briefly and snatching up a bag she already had packed and waiting by the door. She thrust a fresh loaf in on top and pulled a heavy dark cloak from a hook, throwing it over herself.

  Amélie, her eyes wide with fear, came to Rémy and reached for her throat, looking for the opal, the only thing that had ever allowed her to communicate in her own words. Rémy put her arms around the little girl. “It’s gone, little one. I’m sorry. I can’t hear you. It’s gone. But everything will be all right.”

  Claudette swept Amélie up again, pulling the cloak around her and slinging the bag over her shoulder. “We must go, now, while there’s still time.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Rémy said.

  “No, Little Bird,” Claudette told her, pulling her close as they crushed Amélie between them. “You must stay here. The circus will need you.”

  “But you need me, too!”

  Claudette was already out the door and down the steps. She turned back, briefly. “We’ll find you, Rémy. I promise. We’ll find you again — somehow.”

  And then she was gone, slipping through the darkest shadows and into the depths of the forest. Rémy felt sick, lost, and alone. Around her, the circus was leaving, most of the caravans already on the road. Standing on the steps of Claudette’s, she felt it jerk forward as the caravan’s panicked carthorse tried to follow its friends. Rémy jumped down and ran to the front, releasing the lock, jumping up onto the driver’s ledge. The horse moved without urging, its ears back in fear as it followed the rest of the hurried procession.

  Rémy stood on tiptoe to look over the roof and back along the road. The flaming torches were still bearing down on them, close enough now that the thundering of hooves could be heard echoing along the valley. There were many, and they were getting closer by the minute. There is one thing that no circus can do, and that is travel fast.

  “Rémy,” Augustus shouted, and she looked down to see the clown running toward her. “We’ll never escape them.”

  “We just have to hope they leave us alone when they see that Claudette is not here.”

  Augustus nodded, but Rémy could see the fear in his eyes. Suddenly she was angry. How dared these people hunt them? How dared they make them afraid?

  “Augustus,” she yelled. “Tell everyone to get ready to fight if we have to. The circus is our home, yes? We have done nothing wrong. If they want a fight, we’ll give them a fight.”

  The clown nodded, disappearing along the rows of caravans. Rémy heard shouts echoing down the line, along with the odd cheer. She smiled to herself. Yes, we’ll be ready.

  The sound of a trumpet echoed so closely that her horse started in fright. The snake of fire had caught up with them, and Rémy watched as two streams of riders slid past them on either side of the road. The circus horses screamed in fright, and Rémy heard the caged lions roaring as the smell of fear filled the air.

  The column stopped as they were surrounded.

  “We seek the woman you know as Claudette Anjou,” shouted a voice, and Rémy saw it belonged to a straight-backed fellow atop a pure black horse. He was dressed in a uniform of very dark blue. It was ribbed in gold, and he wore a helmet, also tinged gold. Rémy held her breath and waited. Everyone was silent. “I’ll say that again,” said the rider. “We are looking for Claudette Anjou. She has nothing to fear, but we will not leave until we have found her.”

  “She’s not here,” Rémy shouted into a thick silence punctuated only by the nervous snuffle of animals and the hiss of hungry flame. “She does not belong to this circus. You are mistaken.”

  The uniformed rider wheeled at the sound of her voice. He came closer, his horse prancing on elegant legs. An Arabian, Rémy thought absently. Must have cost a fortune, that horse. What a waste to use it for war.

  “And who are you?” the officer asked, staring up at her with shadowed eyes.

  “I am no one,” Rémy answered. “I look after the horses, that is all.”

  Another rider approached. This one had the same style uniform, but with none of the gold piping, and he wore a simple hat instead of a helmet. He stopped beside the officer, passing him a piece of paper. As the officer unfolded it, Rémy realized with dismay that it was the poster Yannick had taken from the station in Calais — the wanted poster with her face clearly painted in its center. The officer consulted it and then looked up at her with a squint.

  “You lie,” he said, his voice smooth. “You are Rémy Brunel, the jewel thief also known as Little Bird. If this is your circus then it is also the ci
rcus of Claudette Anjou. Where is she? I give you one chance to answer, thief, before I take you in.”

  Before Rémy even had time to think, she was in the air. She leaped at the officer as if she were leaping from Dominique to another horse, but this time she kept her lead leg straight and strong.

  It hit the rider in the chest with enough force to steal his breath and unseat him. With a shocked groan, the Comte’s officer fell in the dust, taking his lit torch with him, where it guttered and went out. In another second she had the Arabian’s reigns and was wheeling it around, kicking and pawing at the rider behind. Rémy’s only thought was to keep them occupied for as long as it would take Claudette to escape, convinced now that everything her friend had feared was true.

  She heard a cry behind her and looked back to see Jacques, the lead tumbler, leaping from the roof of his caravan onto the back of another of the Comte’s horses. There was a great roar as all down the circus line, the circus folk saw what was happening. They began to fight, using whatever skills they had to break the lines of horsemen surrounding them.

  The pandemonium was complete when Constance the elephant began to stamp her great feet, raising her trunk above her head and trumpeting to the heavens. The unfamiliar sound of her war cry sent the Comte’s horses into a frenzy. They began to buck, their riders struggling to stay seated. Rémy saw their confusion, and thought for the first time that they may actually be able to see off their attackers. She shouted for the circus folk to rally.

  “Don’t stop!” she cried as she unseated another soldier. His horse fled into the night, disappearing into the forest. “We have them!”

  She didn’t see that the commanding officer had recovered until she heard his voice, hoarse but loud, rising over the melee.

  “Burn them,” he shouted to the soldiers that still had torches. “Raze the caravans! Set them alight!”

  “No!” Rémy screamed as the men stepped forward. She saw one torch thrust through the open door of Claudette’s home. In seconds the vicious flames were devouring it from within.

  She heard screams and turned to see every caravan in flames, glowing in the darkness. The inferno illuminated the road and the forest around it, the terrified screams of the still-tethered horses mixing with the children’s wails of fear.

  “The horses!” Rémy screamed, rushing toward Claudette’s old carthorse, which was standing confused and fearful between the burning struts of its load. “Free the horses!”

  The fire was too much for Constance, too. Her trumpets became full of fear rather than rage. She reared up, her two hind legs still clamped in the irons that held her in train. The huge creature wrenched herself free and charged, scattering the reassembled line of soldiers and running into the night.

  “Enough!” shouted the officer. “We have what we need. Leave them to their fates.”

  Rémy turned. The air was fogged with smoke, drifting from the burning caravans and obscuring the road. The Comte’s men were leaving, forcing their horses to ride past the burning caravans and back up the road. For a second, hope bloomed in Rémy’s heart. They were leaving. They had destroyed the circus, but they were leaving — and without Claudette.

  Then she heard a scream, rising above the others and dousing her with unnatural cold. Through the smoke, Rémy saw two soldiers leaving the tree line. With them they dragged a cloaked figure who struggled and fought, her chestnut hair flying wildly around her head. Claudette.

  Now Rémy could see little Amélie, bound in the strong arms of another soldier, who laughed as she kicked at him. Rémy yelled with rage and ran headlong at their captors.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she heard the officer shout. “Someone put that mongrel down.”

  There was the sound like a whip cracking. Something hit her in the shoulder with such force that Rémy found herself airborne. She was flung sideways, knocked from the road and into the solid trunk of a tree.

  The sound of Claudette’s screams faded as darkness overtook her.

  {Chapter 30}

  REUNION

  It had taken Thaddeus and J almost all day to repair the tear in the airship’s balloon. They had taken it in turns to sew while Dita looked on, nursing her damaged arm. J hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that sewing oilcloth was hard work — by mid-afternoon, Thaddeus’s fingers were bloodied and bruised from the effort of forcing the needle in and out of the thick fabric. Still, it was worth it when they were able to re-inflate the balloon.

  “We’re back in business!” J cheered from the control desk. “Come on then, little miss and gent, let’s be having you. Time’s a-wasting, ain’t it?”

  They took off as twilight set around them. Thaddeus watched out of one of the portholes as the valley dropped away, the airship suddenly at a dizzying height.

  “I’m just going to follow the road,” J told them, pointing to where it snaked and curled straight across the valley and up to a pass directly opposite. “So we’re heading for that there pass.”

  With the gathering darkness came a glow from the south that lit the sky like a bonfire. It rose over the mountains that edged the valley and grew even greater as they neared.

  “I don’t like the look of that,” said J uneasily. “It looks like the Thames on Guy Fawkes’ night.”

  Thaddeus had to agree. “It can’t be a forest fire,” he said. “The trees are still dripping from the downpour.”

  “What do we do?” J asked.

  “Carry on, J,” the young policeman decided. “Just don’t get too close.”

  J patted the control panel. “Right then, old girl,” he muttered. “Let’s have a look-see, shall we?”

  The airship bobbed, the propellers whirring quietly as J spurred the machine on toward the pass out of the valley. Inside the cabin, they all held their breath, waiting to see what would be revealed on the other side. Then something like the sound of thunder echoed down the road. They all strained to see through the darkness outside the airship’s window, but a pall of smoke had spread with the glow and they could see nothing but a smudge of burning orange.

  “What is that?” Dita asked of the rumble.

  “No idea, little miss,” J said, “but whatever it is, it’s coming over that road with a vengeance!”

  The smoke was suddenly split by the terrified whinnying of horses. They poured over the narrow pass in a panicked stream, dashing beneath the airship and sending up a sharp clattering of loose shale that peppered the hull.

  “Bleedin’ ’eck!” J cried.

  Dita ran to the back of the airship, looking through the rear porthole at the stampeding animals as they disappeared down the trail. “I count . . . five — no, six,” she called. “No riders. Some look like . . . zugpferd . . . horse that pulls cart.”

  “Where the blazes did they come from?” J asked.

  Thaddeus didn’t answer for a moment, looking instead out the window and down the road into the forest beyond. “I think blazes is exactly where they came from,” he murmured.

  J let out a gasp of shock. Below them, illuminating the edges of the wooded road like a thousand torches, was an inferno of the like Thaddeus had never seen. It burned tens of feet high, and seemed to stretch out as if the road itself had been turned into a river of fire.

  Dita came to stand beside them for a second, staring open-mouthed at the awful spectacle below. “What is it?” she asked. “What could burn so?”

  “J,” Thaddeus said, looking up at the airship’s roof hatch. “Did you bring your night glasses? I didn’t pack mine.”

  “Yep,” said J, as he reached for the bag he’d brought aboard back in Limehouse and dug around inside. “Take ’em everywhere, don’t I? What you want ’em for?”

  Thaddeus caught the device that J threw him. At first glance it looked like the strangest arrangement of metal and glass one could imagine, but once you looked closer, it became c
lear that the gadget was actually a pair of glasses, albeit peculiar ones. Instead of the normal single lenses there were three layers, one coated in a peculiar green film so that once the wearer had them on, their sight took on a strange-colored hue. The edges of each single lens was set inside an adjustable circle of brass. This was all welded neatly onto a sturdy brass frame that tucked over the nose and behind the ears, just like any other pair of eyeglasses.

  Thaddeus put the night glasses on, feeling the familiar sense of dislocation as the world immediately took on a weirdly unreal tint. Inside the well-lit airship cabin, he could hardly see a thing.

  “What are they?” Dita asked in amazement, staring at Thaddeus.

  “Night glasses,” J explained. “Rubbish in daylight — make you see as good as a cat at night.” He nodded at Thaddeus. “Good idea.”

  Thaddeus climbed up until he could lean through the roof hatch, fiddling with the glasses to get them to focus. The first thing he saw was another knot of horses charging up the hill toward them. They crested the pass and almost collided with the low-flying airship, screaming and rearing around it, so close that Thaddeus felt the airship rock in their wake.

  He knew what he was looking at as soon as he got the glasses to focus. What else could it be with so many caravans in one place?

  “J,” he yelled, nausea and fear threatening to engulf him. “It’s the circus! It’s burning!”

  He heard J curse and scrambled back down into the cabin again, removing the glasses. “We’ve got to help them.”

  “Thaddeus,” J said, nervously, “remember what I said about the ruby’s gas? If we get too close to that fire, we’ll go up in smoke ourselves.”

  Thaddeus cursed. “We’ll just have to get as close as we can and then land.”

  “What if the fire spreads?” J asked. “What if —”

  “We can’t just leave them to it, J!” Thaddeus exclaimed. “There are people down there, a lot of them!”